Date: Sat, 08 Nov 2003 19:25:00 -0700
From: Chad Cougar
Subject: The Wild West
Just recently we watched on the news as the anniversary of Matt Sheppard's
death came and went, and I listened with mounting fury as that idiot
preacher spewed his hatred. I don't know about you, but I've never heard a
true man of God that ever took it upon himself to pass judgment like Phelps
did. I was so angry I had to go for a walk to cool down, but it made me
stop and think as well, what were people thinking, and how did the families
get through it. This story is intended to explore those feelings, and I
hope in some way to say "Matt, we still stop and remember you".
Comments are always welcome.
Ataq_katt@hotmail.com
The Wild West:
Life in the western United States is much simpler than in the major cities.
Time moves at a different pace. The work is harder but somehow more
satisfying, and relationships forged at an early age last a life time.
Business is still frequently concluded with a handshake, and many people
attach no stigma to owning weapons and hunting. It's almost expected. Gun
control in much of the west is laughingly referred to as "hitting what you
aim at". Most people living in the rural west scratch their heads in
confusion while watching the news, unable to understand most of the major
crisis moments of the day. For many of them the solutions to most problems
are straight forward and simple. Most problems...
Brock Morgan woke up like he usually did the second the alarm clock went
off, quietly playing a popular country music tune. He stretched with a
grown and eyed the clock and then the window. It was just after four in the
morning and it was still very dark outside. Living on a ranch in northern
Utah this was a common time to get started every day. He lifted his tall
ropey muscular frame out of bed and shuffled towards the bathroom in the
corner of his room rubbing his neck as he went. Tusker, his black lab
thumped his tail a few times but showed no interest in getting off the bed
or going out in the cold.
Brock had been getting up with his dad as long as he could remember to get
the milk cows to the milking barns or to saddle horses to check the fence
line or to take hay to the cattle in the winter or any of a dozen other
activities that had to be done everyday. At 22 his chiseled form was the
result of years of strenuous work, and his upper body was deeply tanned from
working shirtless. From his waist down was pale white. He rarely wore
shorts. On his right arm was a tattoo of a cougar's face forever caught in
a scream and below that an arm band done in Native American style that had
two feathers that looked like they hung down his arm. There were very few
hairs on his chest, legs, or arms, and a razor line beard was carefully
tended along his jaw line. He wore his light brown hair shoulder length,
trimmed short on the sides and parted on the right, and his pale blue eyes
studied his face in the mirror.
He went through his morning routine automatically, yawning hugely now and
then, and rubbing his eyes. After a shower he dressed in Wrangler jeans,
laced up his Justin boots, and pulled on a long sleeved t-shirt and tucked
it in, finishing off with a hand worked leather belt that had his name on
the back, a four inch folding buck knife in a leather case, and a small
buckle. He grabbed a flannel shirt and turned out the light to head
downstairs for breakfast.
"Morning." Colleen, his mother, looked up from a frying pan and smiled at
him. She'd been up with her husband at three thirty for almost forty years.
Her two older sons lived in their own homes now, and her husband Dwight
and her baby Brock were the last ones in the big ranch house. She looked
forward everyday to the grandkids that had to be coming soon.
"Hey, Mom." Brock kissed her cheek and sat down at the table. "Is Dad
outside already?"
"One of the cows is having its calf. Mike Taylor came and got him."
Colleen set a plate of eggs and bacon on the table for him. "You and Tony
still going hunting this morning?"
"If Dad don't need me, yeah." Brock peppered his eggs and sipped at his
coffee. "If he needs me we can go tomorrow."
"I think he'll be fine." She sat down at the table with her own plate.
"He's got five hands on today. Check with him but I think he'll shoo you
off."
Brock chatted with his mother as he ate and was reminded more than once how
guilty he felt that he hadn't found a girl he liked. She wanted grandkids
more than anything, and so far his brothers hadn't come up with one,
although Kent's wife was going in to see if she was pregnant. Colleen was
excited he could tell. He got up and rinsed his plate, kissed her on the
cheek, and took his Stetson off the hook by the door and put it on his head.
Brock preferred white straw hats, and this one was fairly new and still
looked sharp. He pulled on his western cut down filled coat and headed out
the door.
Mid October in Utah can be strange weather wise. At night it got as low as
twenty four degrees, and could get as hot as around eighty. Brock's breath
was clearly visible as he jammed his hands in his pockets and walked the
hundred and fifty yards to the big barn where his dad was. He passed by his
truck, a two year old Ford F 150, and noticed there was frost on the
windows. Not a bad day to hunt though since it was clear.
Dwight Morgan was as tall as his son and ruggedly featured. He was still
in pretty good shape for a man almost sixty, and shared his blue eyes with
his son. He rested against a wooden gate and smiled as Brock pulled the
barn door closed and walked over to him. Brock was his pride and joy,
showing more interest and skill in working the ranch than either of his
older brothers. Brock felt the same connection to the land and the animals
that he did and it pleased him. "Morning, boy. Sleep good?" He clapped
his son on the shoulder.
"Yeah, Pop." Brock rested his arms on the gate and looked into the pen
where two of the hands were drying off the new born black and white calf.
"No problems, huh?"
"Naw." Dwight shook his head. "Smooth as glass. Mike was done when I got
here." Mike Taylor and his son Colton had worked for the Morgans for over
eleven years. "You and the city kid goin' huntin' today?"
"If you don't need me." Brock answered.
"Hell, we're good." Dwight pushed his hat up on his head and grinned at
his son. "Don't be getting' that little shit lost, now. We'll never hear
the end of it."
Brock chuckled and shook his head. Tony Bentley would forever be known as
the city kid. He'd lost his parents in a car accident when he was fourteen
and had come to live with his aunt and uncle who were friends of the
Morgans. That was almost eight years ago, and Tony still wasn't a local to
most of the people in the county.
"I promise, Dad." Brock stood up and punched his dad in the shoulder
affectionately. "I'm taking Dollar and the General, okay?" The General was
Brock's palomino, a four year old gelding, and Dollar was one of his dad's
horses, a five year old quarter horse that had taken a shine to Tony.
"Better take my truck then, son. Yours ain't strong enough for the trailer
when you get up in the steep hills." Dwight nodded. "There's fifty gallons
of water in the tank in the back. Throw in a bail a hay."
"Yes, sir." Brock lifted his hand in a short wave and headed out the door.
For then next forty five minutes he hitched up the trailer, got the horses
loaded, double checked the tack and saddles, and got two of his rifles and
two pistols and belts from the house. Finally he packed a cooler with sodas
and snack stuff, and his mother provided him with sandwiches for lunch. He
and Tony weren't going far, but they'd be all day. He kissed he cheek again
and headed over to Tony's to pick him up.
Tony in Brock's mind was like a ball of lightening looking for a place to
go off. When they'd met in their freshman year at school it seemed unlikely
that the two of them would get along at all, let alone become best friends.
Where Brock was sort of quiet and easy going Tony was an energetic talker,
often stirring people up with his opinion. Brock more or less dressed
cowboy, and Tony usually was in the latest fashions. Brock listened to
country, Tony liked Limp Bizkit and Blink 182. Brock drove a Ford like his
dad, Tony had a Mustang GT with a worked over six speed tranny. Brock was a
listener, Tony always had something on his mind. Night and day.
The way they'd met was almost a legend to some of their friends. When Tony
had first arrived from California he was a bit of a shock to the locals, and
had been in more than one fight because of it. For the most part Tony could
hold his own. He'd taken martial arts classes and was actually pretty good,
but rednecks will occasionally fight dirty to prove a point, and one fateful
afternoon the odds were four to one against Tony. Brock had just put his
books away and was headed out to meet the bus when the fight broke out, and
for some reason he still didn't quite understand he got mad that the guys he
knew would gang up to kick the shit out of the new guy. He shoved his way
through the crowd and felt the heat of his anger in his face. He recognized
the ring leader and wasn't surprised at all. Kerry Jensen.
Kerry had a nasty streak in him and loved to pick on which ever
unsuspecting little guy he could find. His acne marked faced seemed to
always be in a sneer, and although he was strong he was also somewhat
flabby. His dark hair always looked greasy. He and Brock had gone the
rounds before when Brock was still fairly short. It hadn't happened again
until that day. "Go away, Morgan, this don't concern you." Kerry snarled,
pausing before he kicked the new kid in the ribs.
Brock let fly with a right hook that split Kerry's lip and lifted him off
his feet. He landed on his back in the dust and Brock spun to confront
Kerry's toadies. "It does now." He said quietly, holding his hand out to
pull Tony to his feet. "Let's make this interesting." He said to Tony,
eyeing the other three. "Think you can take them if I fuck up the fat one?"
He turned to glare down at Kerry.
"Sure." Tony said, breathing hard. He didn't question the providence that
brought Brock to help him, he just fell into place covering Brock's back, a
place that would become his alone.
"You made a big mistake." Kerry growled, picking himself up off the ground
and wiping the blood off his mouth. His eyes were lethal as he glared at
Brock. "You're dead, Morgan."
"Bring it on, big mouth." Brock answered levelly. "You talk a lot, let's
see it." Kerry moved at him, telegraphing his intent clearly, and Brock met
him halfway with an upper cut, sending his attacker into the dirt again. A
cheer rose from the crowd, and Brock turned just in time to see Tony level
one of his opponents with a spinning kick to the jaw. The fight was over.
They'd never mentioned it again, although from almost that instant there was
a bond they couldn't explain.
Brock pulled up in front of Tony's house and waved as his friend instantly
appeared on the porch and jogged to the truck. For once he was dressed
similarly to Brock in jeans, boots, and a cowboy hat. The only time he
dressed like that was when they were going riding or helping out Dwight at
the ranch. Tony was a couple inches shorter than Brock but was built close
to the same. He wore his dark hair short and had a goatee. His green eyes
mirrored the energy he had inside. He grinned as he climbed in the huge
Ford F 350 Crew Cab. "Bout god damn time. We're burning daylight, punk."
He slammed the door and accepted a cup of coffee from Brock.
"Punk?" Brock laughed and pulled the truck and trailer out onto the road.
"You're kind of a little bitch to be callin' me punk." He grinned at his
friend and flipped him off.
"Oh you know you're my favorite bitch." Tony laughed, rising to the usual
insults. "If it weren't for me you wouldn't know what tough love was." He
turned the radio to a rock station and chuckled as Brock coughed on his
coffee,
"Fucker." Brock laughed and wiped coffee off his chin. "I brought you the
Remington. The Winchester ain't a good saddle gun."
"Cool." Tony looked on the seat behind him. The two rifles, two pistols,
and holster belts they always took riding were on the seat. He'd never even
handled a weapon before meeting up with Brock. Now he was fairly
comfortable with them, although he really didn't enjoy hunting. He did it
to be with Brock. "Uncle John wants a buck this year. He bought my tag and
license so I guess I better not disappoint him." Tony's uncle liked the
taste of venison and kept it in his freezer. Tony didn't care for it.
"Dad said he'd have em butchered. John don't have to do it." Brock sipped
at his coffee. "I thought we'd go to that meadow where we went fishing a
couple months ago. It's on Curtis' property so there won't be anyone up
there we don't know. He gave us permission. I got the note in my wallet."
"Staying over night?" Tony asked, unzipping his coat. It was warm in the
truck.
"Fuck that. It's to cold at night." Brock made the turn that took them
towards the mountains that bordered Utah and Idaho, the Sawtooth Range.
"Just a day trip, man."
It took almost an hour to get to the dirt road that cut off towards the
mountains and then another half an hour to get into the canyon. The sky was
barely turning towards blue when they finally stopped. They carefully got
the horses out of the trailer and put them on lead ropes while they checked
their gear.
Brock put his pistol in the holster and secured it then handed the other
belt to Tony. Tony put it around his waist and buckled it, accepted the
other .357 revolver and checked the loads, slipped it in the holster and
snapped the restraint. The first time Brock had insisted that he wear a
pistol he'd felt like an idiot. It was like something out of a John Wayne
movie. Brock explained that it was for snakes or badgers or coyotes, but
Tony refused. Two hours later they'd seen a rattle snake and Tony changed
his mind about the pistol. Now, several years later, Brock and Dwight had
turned him into a respectable marksman. They both put on hunter orange
vests, gloves, and hat covers.
They saddled the horses, made sure they were covered with orange markings
to make them visible to other hunters, and Brock mounted General Jackson and
then held both rifles while Tony climbed up on Dollar. When he was situated
he handed one of them across and then put his across his shoulders with the
sling. "I think if we go up the north side and work our way to the top we
can come down through the other side and tie the horses up. We can walk the
canyon and circle back up to get em." Brock showed the path he was talking
about by pointing. Tony nodded and urged Dollar to follow.
Unlike most urban areas the air in northern Utah is crisp and clear. Tony
felt the chill of it as he breathed and thanked God yet again that he'd
ended up where he had. When his parents died he'd been terrified to go and
live in Utah. It seemed like a death sentence to end up in the middle of
nowhere where the population of the entire state wasn't even two million
people. A lot had changed since then. Thanks to Brock he'd seen things he
never knew existed in the mountains, could ride a horse fairly well, and had
worked on a ranch.
He swallowed hard as the emotions of the moment hit him. He didn't know
how Brock felt but Tony had long ago figured out how much he loved Brock.
At first it had been almost a hero worship after the fight had happened, but
as they became friends it was something more. A lot more. As quickly as
the feelings hit they were shoved away hard with a surge of guilt. Tony
looked away quickly as he realized he'd been closely studying Brock's
angular features. His cheeks went hot in the early morning chill. His true
feelings about Brock shamed him. He sighed heavily and guided the horse
through the scrubby cedar trees and large rocks.
Brock found a place he liked and slipped gracefully out of the saddle. He
tied off the lead rope to a tree and took a large orange blanket out of one
of the saddle bags and tossed it over the General, watching as Tony did the
same. A few minutes later he'd distributed snack stuff and a couple of
water bottles between them and they set off down hill together. After
hunting together for a few years with Dwight the two of them knew what they
needed to do, and Tony cut off and went over to the other side of the narrow
canyon so he could see whatever Brock jumped up.
By the time the reached the area they liked it was full sun and Brock made
his way over to Tony. Tony stood at the top of a tall rock outcropping that
they'd sat on before. It gave them a good view of the entire canyon and
they could see the horses easily. Brock sat down and un-slung his rifle and
then took off his coat, crushing it down into a small pocket sewn in the
back, leaving him in a flannel shirt and the orange vest. Tony did the
same.
"I didn't see anything fresh." Brock said quietly as he scanned the
hillside with his eyes. He took out his water bottle and took several large
swallows.
"There's some guys over a couple canyons." Tony said just as quietly. "I
think it's your uncle Dave." He accepted the bottle and took several
swallows.
"Dad said he'd be out here. Eldon Daines and my cousins were coming.
Wonder if they're up here?" Brock looked back towards the top of the ridge
line. "I didn't see anyone moving."
"Me either." Tony took off his hat and wiped his forehead on his sleeve.
"Christ it's hot for fucking October."
"That's why we came here instead of going over to Cache Valley." Brock
chuckled. "Everyone went towards Bear Lake `cause it's cooler."
"You know better than me." Tony chuckled. "I never saw a deer before I
met you." He went silent abruptly as Brock grabbed his arm and pointed.
Almost together they brought their rifles up and trained the scopes where
Brock had been looking. Tony moved slowly, looking for movement or familiar
objects and almost missed it before he moved back. Three little white asses
moving carefully up the side of the hill across from them. "Horns?" He
asked in a whisper.
"Not yet." Brock breathed, concentrating. Instinctively he'd moved so
that his knees were bent and he rested his elbows on them for stability.
Just below the first deer he'd spotted was more, and he waited for them to
clear the trees. At last he could finally see horns, a three point. "See
him?" He whispered. He eased the safety off on the rifle.
"Yeah, big bastard." Tony answered. "Take him." He kept the scope on the
animal to see where Brock's shot hit out of habit. There was a roar next to
him as Brock pulled the trigger. Tony saw the animal stagger. "To high."
He said.
Brock inhaled and let it out slowly and stopped, lining up the sites again.
He squeezed carefully and slowly and his rifle bucked against his
shoulder. He knew before he put the scope up again it had been a clean
shot. "He's down." Tony grinned at him and lowered his rifle. "Good
shootin', Tex."
"There!" Brock pointed past Tony's shoulder and Tony whirled around,
bringing his scope up. The two shots had scared four more deer up, and Tony
felt his pulse quicken. He'd never been really wild about killing, but the
Morgans and his aunt and uncle ate the meat and used the leather, so for him
it wasn't like a waste. He sited carefully and looked for horns. "Third
one!" Brock whispered harshly. Tony trailed down slightly and found the
rack of horns. "Fuck, he's huge!" Brock chuckled.
Please don't fuck up, Tony thought to himself. He calmed his breathing and
saw out of the corner of his eye that Brock had brought his rifle up to
ghost Tony like he'd done for Brock. He took a breath like Dwight had shown
him, slowly let it out, and put even pressure on the trigger. The rifle
slammed into his shoulder as it went off and he hurried to re-sight it. He
moved carefully to find the deer and almost panicked when he couldn't see it
until Brock began to laugh.
"Fuckin' show off." Brock clapped him on the shoulder. "A perfect two
hundred yard shot. I wish dad was here."
"I don't see him!" Tony said sharply. He didn't want to maim the damn
thing and have it wander off to die. He scanned with the scope looking for
it. "Where'd it go, Brock?"
"It rolled down behind that big rock, buddy. Chill out, ya got him clean."
Brock stood up and shouldered his rifle. "Let's go see yours first. I
think it had a huge rack. Dad'll be real proud of you." He held out his
hand and pulled Tony to his feet.
Tony didn't feel particularly proud to have killed something but he
couldn't help but be excited. He hoped that Brock planned on cleaning the
damned thing out because he sure as hell wasn't going to. He'd watched
Brock and Dwight gut several deer and elk over the years and always had to
walk away.
They headed up the canyon towards the deer, taking their time. It was
warming up fast and Brock handed Tony the water bottle. They made their way
down to where the narrow creek ran through and Tony was about to step across
when something caught his eye. He stopped and glanced towards a tiny
clearing, craning his neck to see through the trees. "Brock, there's
something over there." He pointed towards something flapping in the breeze
about a hundred yards from them.
Brock turned and looked and then used the scope on his rifle to get a
better look. "It's a tent or something, but it looks like its torn up." He
stepped back across the creek. "Let's go see what's up." He led the way
through the buck brush.
What they found shocked them both. The small camp they stepped into had
been ransacked deliberately, and the tent had been shredded with a knife
from the look of it. Food items were scattered and stomped into the ground,
and the tent poles were bent around trees. Brock looked at the carnage and
felt nervousness make his neck hair stand up. "What the fuck happened
here?"
"Oh my God." Tony said in a strangled voice. There was an arm laying on
the ground behind a long rock. He handed his rifle to Brock and ran over to
it. Behind the rock he found a naked form, bound hand and foot, beaten and
cut with a knife. The body was turning blue from the cold, and its pale
blond hair was blood matted. Tony felt the world spin around him as he
carefully rolled the body back to look at its face. "Brock! It's Cade
Daines!" He wailed. Brock moved around the rock and knelt down, setting
the guns aside. Tony checked for a pulse and his eyes met Brock's. "He's
alive!"
"Cut him loose!" Brock commanded, pulling his knife out. "Get your coat
out and wrap it around him." He cut the rope around Cade's ankles as Tony
got the one on his wrists. He looked around at the surrounding woods
nervously wondering if whoever did this was still around.
"Give me your coat." Tony held out his hand to take Brock's and unfolded
it out of the little pouch. He carefully slipped it under Cade's shoulders
and fastened the snaps, noticing as he did that the word "FAG!" had been cut
into the kid's chest with a sharp knife. He felt rage boiling up into his
stomach. He slipped his coat under Cade's ass and fastened it around his
waist and legs. Various cuts had been made in the boy's arms and legs as
well, though not deep enough to be lethal. Cade was covered with bruises.
"Brock, doesn't he always hang with Trevor Yates?"
"Yeah I think so." Brock moved towards the fire pit to get it going.
"So where is Trevor?" Tony asked, pulling Cade up into his arms so he
could get him closer to the fire when Brock got it going.
Brock shrugged and looked around. "Let me get you some heat and I'll
look." A thought crossed his mind and he pulled his pistol and fired it
three times in the air. Tony jumped.
"What the hell was that for?"
"If anyone's close to us it's a distress call." Brock holstered the gun
and bent to start the fire. It didn't take long. "Stay with him. I'm
going to look around and then get the horses. One of us needs to go get
help."
"You ride a lot better than I do." Tony offered. "Can you get a cell
signal out by the highway?"
"I think so." Brock brought the rifles over to where Tony could get them.
"We still don't know who did this. Keep your eyes out." Without really
thinking he bent down and hugged Tony briskly. "Don't fuck around. If you
need to shoot, okay?"
"You're scaring the shit out of me. Go and get your ass back here." Tony
tried to smile but it looked weak. He watched as Brock jogged to the tent
and looked inside the remains and then trotted up the hillside. Tony sighed
and looked around, feeling his heart racing. He glanced down at the kid in
his lap and swallowed hard, imagining himself in Cade's place. There but
for the grace of God, he thought.
Brock made record time getting back to the truck and had the trailer off
the horseshoe hitch in the bed in less then three minutes. He started the
truck and was about to head for the highway when he saw two four wheelers
heading towards him fast. He jumped out and ran out to meet them, relieved
that it was his uncle Dave. His cousins Cliff and Peter were on the other
bike. "Tony's up there about a mile." He pointed up the canyon. "We found
Cade Daines near the top. Someone tried to kill `im!"
"Calm down, Brock." Dave Morgan killed his machine and got off. He was a
large man, standing 6' 4" with a thick build. "Tell me what happened." He
ordered. Brock quickly outlined what they'd seen. When he finished Dave
turned to his sons. "Eldon headed back to camp with his deer. Go get him
and take him up to where Tony is." Peter nodded grimly and gunned the four
wheeler, tearing back the way they'd come. Dave pointed at the truck. "Go
do like you was, Brock. Call 911 and tell them where we are. Tell them
they need to send a helicopter. An ambulance will take forever. Wait for
whoever shows up. I'm going up and see if I can move him."
"Thanks Uncle Dave." Brock nodded and ran around the truck.
Tony felt Cade move and he looked down to see Cade's brown eyes looking up
at him filled with pain. "Don't move, Cade. I don't know how bad you're
hurt." Cade swallowed and cried out silently and Tony stroked the side of
his face. "Come on, Cade, I need you to stay with me, okay? Help is
coming. Focus on me, okay?" He gently pulled the kid closer to him. "Who
did this to you, can you tell me?" Cade tried to speak and Tony leaned down
close.
"Trevor! Where's Trevor?" Cade was almost inaudible.
"I don't know, Cade. Brock is looking for him." Tony felt like he was
going to cry. He swallowed hard and sniffed loudly. "Just rest. Stay with
me." Cade closed his eyes and rested his head on Tony's arm. "Bastards!"
Tony whispered harshly and felt a tear run down his cheek. "Fucking
bastards!"
About twenty minutes went by and Cade's breathing was getting ragged. Tony
kept the fire up even though he personally felt like he was getting burned.
Cade's skin was much warmer but the blood had started flowing again, too.
He jerked his head up at the sound of a four wheeler coming towards them.
Nervously he reached for his pistol not knowing who it was. One thing was
straight up, they weren't going to hurt Cade again. Not while he was here.
He swallowed nervously.
"Tony?" Dave called out as he killed the bike and came through the thick
brush. "Tony Bentley!"
"Over here!" Tony called out, relieved. "Dave, I'm over here! Hurry!"
He felt the tension slide out of his shoulders as he saw Brock's uncle come
crashing towards him. "He isn't doing so good!"
"Anyone else up here?" Dave asked, kneeling down beside them. He
unsnapped the jacket over Cade's chest and his face went crimson.
"Cade asked about Trevor but I haven't left him." Tony said, fastening the
coat up again.
"I'm going to take you guys down on the bike. If you can hold him we'll be
able to move pretty good." Dave stood up and looked around. "Stay put a
minute while I have a look, okay?"
Tony laughed nervously. "Not going anywhere, man." He watched Dave walk
into the brush and disappear. The sound of a couple more four wheelers came
from farther up the canyon and Tony watched as Brock's cousins led Eldon
Daines towards them. Dave walked back into the clearing about the time they
pulled up. He went quickly over to Eldon and stopped him from getting off
the machine briefly. "Eldon, he's alive. Get a grip on yourself."
Eldon's face was ashen as he stepped off the bike. "What happened?" He
asked in a gruff voice, covering the ground to where Tony sat in few steps.
He met Tony's eyes for just a second and leaned down over his son, running
his eyes over the visible wounds. He choked off a sob when he opened the
jacket to look at his son's chest. "Oh sweet Christ!" He whispered
harshly.
"Dad?" Cade opened his eyes and whispered almost soundlessly.
"I'm here." Eldon's voice broke and tears streamed down his face. "Son,
who did this?" Cade's eyes rolled white and his head lolled back. "Cade?"
Eldon shouted.
"He's okay, sir." Tony slipped his hand under the jacket and could feel
the boy's pulse. "He's gone out on me a couple times like that."
"Eldon, we need to get him to the bottom. Brock called 911." Dave gently
pulled the other man to his feet. "I think you should let Peter run you
down. Tony can hold Cade on my machine, okay?" Eldon began to sob openly
and looked back down at his son. "Come on, let's get moving." Dave guided
him towards the other machines. "Cliff, bring Eldon's bike. Tony, can you
lift Cade yourself?"
Tony carefully scooped the sixteen year old up and nodded, getting to his
feet. Cade couldn't weigh one thirty. He walked towards the others. Dave
helped him get on the back of the four wheeler and get settled, and he
watched the other two machines move out ahead of them. Dave got on and
started the bike, following them.
The ride wasn't the smoothest, and Tony had to work to keep his balance and
hang on to Cade. As they neared the bottom of the canyon they could see two
Sheriff's vehicles parked by the horse trailer, and Brock was leading
another up from the highway. Before they stopped Peter had already turned
around and was taking a deputy back up to the camp with two more following
on Eldon's bike. Dave pulled over to the group and stopped. One of the
deputies walked up and waved. "Hey, Dave, how are you?"
"Hope you got paramedics somewhere, Andy." Dave carefully stepped off the
four wheeler. "This kid's been beaten goddamn near to death."
"That's them now." The deputy hooked his thumb over his shoulder and
stepped over to Tony and looked down at the boy in his arms. "You okay Mr.
Bentley?" Tony smiled slightly and nodded, watching as the deputy carefully
opened the jacket over Cade's chest. "Son of a bitch!" He swore quietly.
Brock ran up with two paramedics and carried a case for them. He set it
down and moved out of the way as they carefully stretch Cade out on a
blanket so Tony could get off the bike. As they started working Brock put
his arm around Tony's shoulders and guided him towards his dad's truck. He
noticed that blood had soaked through their coats and was on Tony's shirt
and pants. "You okay?" He asked quietly. They stopped a short distance
away and looked back at the commotion.
"I guess." Tony's face was unreadable. They both looked up towards the
east as the sound of a helicopter could be heard. It took about twenty
minutes for it to land, Cade to be put aboard, and take off again. They
watched together as it took off, and Tony began to shake. He angrily tried
to ball his fists to stop it, but the shaking got worse. He tried to
swallow but his throat was frozen in place. He squeezed his eyes shut.
"Ready to go home?" Brock turned towards him as the chopper moved out of
sight. "Dad and a couple guys are coming after the horses and deer...Tony?"
He noticed the look on Tony's face and the paleness of his skin. He
looked like he was going to pass out and he was shivering so hard he looked
like an earthquake. "Tony, what's wrong?" He put his hands on Tony's
shoulders. "Hey!"
"It could've been me." Tony whispered so quietly that the wind carried it
away. He seemed to shrink on himself. He hugged his sides hard and felt
his eyes burning. He choked back a strangled sound.
"Huh?" Brock bent closer, worried. "Tony, you're scaring the shit out of
me." Tony moved towards him and Brock hugged him close. "What's the
matter?"
"It could've been me!" Tony growled, tears beginning to roll down his
cheeks and cutting trails over his chilled skin. He wrapped his arms under
Brocks powerful arms and felt the dam break. He sobbed uncontrollably on
Brock's shoulder.
Brock was stunned. He didn't know what to do and it scared him. "Easy,
Tony, I'm here." He said quietly, holding him tight. "It's over, man.
Cade'll be fine. You did it." He was confused about what Tony said but it
wasn't a big deal. For now his best friend needed him.
"Oh, fuck. Don't you get it?" Tony said in a strange voice against his
shoulder. "Brock please don't hate me!" He whispered harshly.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Brock leaned back to meet his eyes.
"I'm getting pissed off here, Tony. You and me are way past best friends.
What are you talkin' about?"
"Brock I'm gay too!" Tony hissed. His face looked tortured and he sniffed
loudly. "What if it had been me up there?"
Brock's jaw moved but nothing came out. He felt like he was going to swirl
into a black hole or something, but he couldn't look away from Tony's
bloodshot green eyes. "They'd have to go through me." He said quietly.
Tony's chest hitched and he let Brock pull him back into the hug. " Nobody
hurts you man, not ever."